


Talk Me Down

by misanthropicacedia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fix It Fic, Fix-It, Fluff, John is a Mess, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, S4 fix it fic, Season/Series 04, Sherlock in Love, Sorry for the pain, john apologises for hurting sherlock, the HUG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropicacedia/pseuds/misanthropicacedia
Summary: As the camera fades to black, we are left with two men hugging, unspoken words, scenes unknown. A short fix it fic where we see what went on when the screen faded. I used Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan as my muse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in a long time, so please let me know of any mistakes!
> 
> This is based on the part of The Hug that we don’t see on screen.
> 
> I kept hearing the song [-Talk Me Down-](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo3lxS-6joY) by Troye Sivan and all I could think of was Sherlock and John and it just broke my heart, so here: have your heart broken with me.

_So if you don't mind, I'll walk that line_

_Stuck on the bridge between us_

_Gray areas and expectations_

\---

“No, but it is what it is.” Sherlock echoed John’s words that he had spoken only minutes earlier, trying desperately to quell the quiet sobs that were escaping from John’s throat.

Sherlock placed a hand carefully on the back on John’s neck, using his other to stroke along his arm and back. John responded by gripping tightly onto the front of Sherlock’s dressing gown, pressing himself further into Sherlock’s chest, as if he were trying to disappear.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he choked out, his voice muffled into Sherlock’s chest. He was holding desperately onto Sherlock like he was oxygen.

“John, you have nothing to be sorry for—“

Sherlock was cut off by John abruptly looking up into his face, all tear tracks and bloodshot eyes. He was still holding onto Sherlock’s shirt with tight fists. “I have _everything_ to be sorry for,” he spoke, more aggressive than he intended, but it was all he could do to avoid bursting into tears again. “I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner, Sherlock. You needed me and I refused to listen. I haven’t slept in days because all I can think about is . . .” _You_ , John wanted to finish, but it would have been too much for him to allow himself that liberty. Sherlock was hurting and he needed to allow him to hurt before he messed with his head any more than he already had. “A-and . . . I’m sorry for hurting you. Christ, I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

John’s eyes welled up again as he took in the bruises Sherlock had sustained from the beating in the morgue. He could never forgive himself for doing that to Sherlock, not ever. However, he did vow to never allow himself to get to that point again.

“John, I never blamed you for feeling the way you do. I would never hold that against you; however I accept your apology. So . . . thank you.” Sherlock spoke carefully, watching John’s face closely as the doctor blinked back tears, not looking away from Sherlock’s eyes.

“D’you, uh, d’you mind if I—“ John dropped his hands from Sherlock and awkwardly took a step backwards, clearing his throat. Sherlock’s heart dropped as his touch disappeared and he knew that John was going to try and excuse himself from the situation again. “D’you mind if I go clean myself up a bit? Wash my face? I just don’t think going out for cake with my face looking like this would be very ideal.”

“Not at all - go right ahead.” Sherlock answered as he gestured towards the bathroom. John flashed a quick halfhearted smile at Sherlock before he turned and walked towards the bathroom, leaving Sherlock standing on his own, feeling . . . _what_?

He was so close to telling John his true feelings earlier he could still taste the words on his tongue – they were bitter and he resented them because of course how true they were and the fact that John wouldn’t reciprocate. Of course he wouldn’t when he was grieving his dead wife and had just been through a traumatic ordeal in which he had nearly beaten Sherlock to death. Sherlock had accepted John’s apology and he would never hold his actions against him, however it still didn’t push away the hurt it had caused Sherlock. It still didn’t push away the memory of the look in John’s eyes when he was standing over Sherlock, hands clenching and unclenching, with a face that said “you’re dead to me”. _Reminder to delete_ , he told himself, running his fingertips over the cut on his lip.

Sherlock could hear the water running in the bathroom as John splashed it over his face. Padding silently down the hall in bare feet, Sherlock stopped at the doorway and leaned against the frame, watching John bend over the sink as he washed the salt from his tears away from his face. He straightened up and looked into the mirror, his eyes falling on Sherlock. John looked exhausted; his eyes were dark and deeply pained, and the lines on his face seemed deeper and more pronounced.

“So,” Sherlock began, attempting to add some lightness to his voice. “What’s this about cake?”

John smiled at Sherlock in the mirror and turned off the faucet. “I just thought cause it’s your birthday, cake would be in order. But first I think a cup of tea first.”

“Naturally,” Sherlock responded, smiling back at John before moving off to start the kettle.

As Sherlock brewed the tea, he could hear John moving around in the living room before he settled himself on the sofa. And by the time Sherlock had emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea and a gingernut hanging from his mouth, John was lying down asleep, his brow furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open.

Moving over to the coffee table, he settled down the two cups of tea and the biscuit and stood beside John, watching him silently. He then gracefully sat down in front of the couch so he was able to sit beside John without disturbing him. He angled his body so he was side on, able to see John to make sure he was still sleeping soundly, prepared to wake him if he saw any signs of nightmares, as he had done countless times in the past. Only this time he was closer than ever, able to drink in the sight of this beautiful man. _His_ John.

John rolled onto his side silently, placing one hand in front on the couch in front of him and without thinking, Sherlock delicately used his left had to intertwine their fingertips. Watching John’s face slowly begin to smooth out, he used butterfly soft movements to map out the shape of his hands and fingers. They had held hands before, of course, but for some reason, in this moment of complete vulnerability, Sherlock felt as if his heart were going to burst from his chest from how much he loved the man in front of him. Sherlock knew him doing this was a slight violation of privacy, that John hadn’t given Sherlock permission to be this close and to hold him like he was, but at this moment in time, all he could feel was John’s warm hand in his and his heart beating in his chest.

Looking at John’s face, Sherlock moved his hands up to his forehead and softly smoothed out the remaining frown lines so John didn’t look so troubled in his sleep. How many times had he wanted to touch this man in this way? How many times had he seen John sleeping and all he wanted to do was to sleep next to him, feeling his warmth? Holding onto him when he woke with his nightmares?

Sherlock’s fingers hovered over John’s lips, which were slightly pouted. He had wondered so many nights about how John’s lips would feel against his, how John would taste inside his mouth. And so gently, gently Sherlock traced one soft finger over the cupids bow on John’s lips. Sherlock sighed as he felt the soft plushness of John and he couldn’t help but run his finger along his lips and down to his jawline. He traced oh, so soft fingertips along John’s jaw, which was slightly shaded with his afternoon stubble.

“Oh, _John_ ,” Sherlock sighed, holding on with every fiber of his being to _not_ _kiss John Watson_ , but he was so desperate that he was shaking. Instead, he moved his hand back into John’s and gently turned his palm upward focusing on the lines on his palms which were slightly calloused.

Sherlock didn’t notice that John’s eyes had opened and he didn’t notice him watching Sherlock caress his hand with intense concentration. Sherlock did notice, however, when John held onto Sherlock’s hand and silently moved it up to his lips and began placing soft kisses all over his hand, focusing on his palm and wrist and each individual finger as if he never wanted to let him go. Sherlock sucked in a breath, heart hammering, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to take in the sensation of John’s lips on his hand. He kept his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them again, he would wake up and it would have been a dream.

John let go of Sherlock’s hand, placing it back down on the couch and moved up onto his elbow. He watched Sherlock’s face -  _impossibly_ beautiful – his eyes were closed with his eyelashes splayed out and his lips were left open in a perpetual sigh, shaking slightly. John had never felt more in love than in this moment and he knew, after lying awake pretending to be asleep and feeling Sherlock caressing his face and hands that now was a better time than ever.

“Can I kiss you?” John asked, his voice low and crackled with sleep.

Sherlock, still with eyes closed, nodded silently.

When he finally felt John kiss him, he felt as though his whole world were suddenly in colour. John pushed his free hand into Sherlock’s soft curls, and as Sherlock’s mouth sighed open, John pushed his tongue inside and _oh_ he tasted like tea and peppermint and _John and John and John_. He couldn’t stop his name from being repeated over and over in his head. He was better than cocaine and heroin. He was more addictive and he needed him more than he had ever needed anything in his life.

And when they finally broke apart, Sherlock couldn’t stop the tears from coming and when he opened his eyes, John had a smile on his face that was reminiscent of a piece of music so beautiful he could have lived in that particular moment for the rest of his days.

“Please don’t cry,” John breathed, his face inches from Sherlock’s. He extricated his hand from Sherlock’s hair and used his thumb to wipe away the tears from Sherlock’s face.

“I love you,” Sherlock spoke quietly, unable to stop himself.

John blinked at Sherlock, hesitating, before smiling and responding. “God, I love you too, Sherlock.”

Resting his forehead against Sherlock’s, John couldn’t stop his smile and soon Sherlock was smiling too, eyes shining, his heart swelling with free love for the first time in his life.

“Cake?” John quipped, unable to take his eyes off Sherlock as he sat up completely.

Sherlock nodded sagely, face flushed. “Cake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think! And if there are any mistakes, let me know as well!
> 
> You can also find my blog on tumblr [-here.-](http://www.misanthropic-acedia.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading~~


End file.
